


Oxtail Daisies and Daffodils

by Cryo_Bucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Copious Amounts of Fluff, Depression, Fae & Fairies, Flower Crowns, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Outdoor Sex, Sarah dies, flower fondling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/pseuds/Cryo_Bucky
Summary: “You are blessed by the faeries.” Steve’s mother said it every night when she tucked him in to bed. “They watch over you, and love you, just as I do.”Steve believed her, but he often questioned her words. Every season he fell ill, staying sickly and small even as the other children grew bigger and stronger, and they started to question him as well.However, Steve had proof that he was not like the other children around him. Every spring since he was a baby he sprouted a tender crown of flowers from his scalp, that bloomed and re-bloomed until fall came, when they withered and fell out as the first icy wind blew across the land.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 11
Kudos: 228





	Oxtail Daisies and Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> For [Chiyume](https://tumblr.com/chiyume-arts), inspired by her beautiful flower crown art, though it took on a bit of a life of its own the more I worked on it. Sorry that it took so long!  
> Check out their amazing art of Steve and Bucky [here](https://chiyume-arts.tumblr.com/post/161175288160/chiyume-ox-eye-daisies-innocence-purity) and [here!](https://chiyume-arts.tumblr.com/post/161175270995/chiyume-daffodils-rebirth-new-beginnings)
> 
> Thank you so much to [Nurse Darry](/users/nursedarry/)  
> and [Kajmere](/users/kajmere/) for helping me beat my words into shape and giving me so much support!

Steve and his mother lived outside the village on the edge of the forest, though they spent plenty of time in town; Sarah’s work keeping her busy enough.

The children in the village don’t like Steve. The younger children thought he was a Changeling, and were often afraid of him. The older children just thought he was a freak, teasing him that he was too slow and sickly and ugly to be a faerie. They pulled the flowers out of his hair, ignoring his cries of pain as it tugged on the stems rooted to his scalp. Steve avoided going to the village whenever he could, and stuck close to his mother when she brought him along there.

He spent much of his time in the forest, learning which plants his mother needed for her healing work, and enjoying the quiet of nature around him. His mother had no worries of him disappearing into the woods, not with a clear mark of his favor in place every spring. And he never ran into trouble in the trees the way that he did when faced with the people of the village.

Steve grew up just fine, always managing to pull through the sickness that bogged him down, and bloomed healthy again each spring with the return of his flowers. He tried not to let the words of the townsfolk get to him, but he still avoided them whenever he could. Sarah was good company for him, and he loved her fiercely, always pushing down the gnawing loneliness that sometimes came over him at night. The village children didn’t want to be his friends, he didn’t need them anyway.

Everything was much the same until the fall of his 16th year when very suddenly his mother came down ill. For once an illness didn’t touch him, but ravaged Sarah in only a few months. By the time that the snow began to melt, Steve found himself digging a grave in the loamy soil of the forest. That spring when Steve’s flowers began to grow, he took up the sharp shears that his mother used to cut the wool from their sheep, and snipped the stems as close as possible to his scalp, even though it made his eyes water with pain, and something deep in his chest ache. He didn’t want the faerie’s favor, it had never brought him anything good, and now he was truly alone.

In the summer of his 20th year Steve walked into the village a new man. Living alone and avoiding the village had made him work hard to survive, and he had finally grown, shot up a foot and doubled in weight. He looked like an entirely different man. He no longer let the flowers grow, cutting them off as soon as he could feel them starting to crop up. The villagers didn’t even recognize him, greeting him as a stranger. They were kind enough; it seemed they had thought he’d died the same year as his mother, and he couldn’t blame them. In a way he had.

He spent months trying to integrate himself into the rhythm of the small village, much of his time taken traipsing back and forth between the forest and town, hauling massive quantities of wood, or meat, or furs. Plenty of people were wary of the forest, but Steve knew the trees like the back of his hand, and always returned successful. They praised him for his skills, but instead of basking in their acceptance, it filled Steve with bitterness. Of course they liked him now, now that he was useful to them.

The warmth of the sun was filtering through the trees as Steve made his daily foray into the forest to check on his traps and pick out the trees to fell for the day. He scratched idly at the beard that had started to fill in his face, his quick eyes watching the birds flitting through the branches, and listening to the soft sounds of life in the forest. Even now this was where he feels the most relaxed, his large axe a familiar weight on his back as he traipsed through the trees. An unexpected flash of movement made Steve whip his head around, his fingers closing around the handle of the small throwing axe at his waist.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he turned slowly in place, trying to find the thing again. He’d sworn it was a man, but-

“You come farther into the forest every day.”

Steve jumped, whipping his hand up to throw the axe as a matter of surprise, only to find his wrist encircled in an iron grip. He was staring into the steely-blue eyes of a man he had never seen before. The man was beautiful, there was no two ways about it, his lips soft and full, and his hair falling almost to his shoulders in glimmering chestnut waves. Steve was speechless, though he was as shocked by the man’s appearance as the grip on his wrist, he could feel his bones grinding together, such was the man’s strength.

“What are you looking for, here in the trees?” The man’s voice was like syrup being drizzled over Steve’s skin, thick, sweet, and melodic.

Wrenching his arm from the man’s grip, Steve took a step back, his mouth falling open when he noticed the crown of flowers that rested on, no _in_ the man’s hair. His own fingers brushed over his scalp, where the nubs of stems still stubbornly tried to grow.

This man was inhumanly beautiful, his expression seemed to sparkle with inquisitiveness. His lips curved in a half-smile that made his large gray eyes scrunch around the edges. “I know you.” The man continued, “You’re Steve.”

This startled Steve back into action, and he took another step back. “You’re a faerie.” His voice was hard as he raised his axe again. It was iron, and would make a good weapon, even against the other man’s strength.

“My name is Buchanan,” the faerie continued, seemingly uninterested in Steve’s hostile stance, even going so far as to lean against the tree behind him.

Steve kept his defensive stance, he didn’t trust this man. If he was a faerie then he could be up to _anything._ Just the fact that he knew Steve was enough to make him wary. “What do you want?”

Buchanan, what a mouthful of a name, was picking at his nails, seemingly completely unconcerned by Steve’s weapons.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time.” Buchanan pushed himself off the tree and Steve shuffled backwards. “You’re very interesting.” He brushed his fingers through his hair, ruffling the flowers that bloomed there. “Why are you wasting your time in the village?”

Steve loosened his stance a little, but still kept his grip tight around his axe. His momma had called him hot-tempered, and he knew she’d been right, but he hated being called out, and that’s what this felt like. “I’m not wasting my time. I’m building myself a life, a rapport with the village.”

Buchanan seemed to have finished with picking his nails and stood a little straighter, brushing non-existent dust off the breeches he was wearing. His shirt was mostly open at the front and gave Steve a glimpse of the arch of his neck and his collarbones, trailing down to the curve of his pecs. He was not as slim as Steve had first imagined, though he still seemed inordinately graceful, even without moving. They were nearly the same height, and Buchanan met Steve’s gaze readily. “They treated you so poorly as a child, why take your time with them?”

“You don’t- how do you know?” Steve scowled. He honestly didn’t want to hear what this man, this faerie, for surely that’s what he was, had to say. Anything that he told him was likely to be a lie or a trick, anyway.

“I said I’ve been watching over you since you were young. You were born after my first winter.” Buchanan brushed his hair back behind his ear and scratched his fingers through the stems that wrapped around the back of his skull. Steve had to admit that he was entranced.

Steve blinked at him, trying to shake himself loose of this feeling. “I thought that you aged more slowly than humans.” His mother had taught him a lot about the Fae, and he felt himself pretty knowledgeable, but to have someone like Buchanan actually standing in front of him was...

“We age fairly regularly until our 20th year, then it slows down.” Buchanan shrugged, suddenly stepping up into Steve’s space and making him rear back as the faerie tried to touch his face.

“What are you doing?” Steve’s voice came out higher than usual, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“You cut your flowers.” Buchanan seemed hurt, his expression going stormy as he snatched his hand away, wringing his hands together.

Steve straightened his back. “They only invited ridicule; they never brought me anything good. I don’t want them.”

Buchanan held his hand to his chest as if Steve had burned him, his eyes wide. “You don’t want them?” His voice was soft, and it was clear that Steve had upset him. Guilt crashed down around Steve’s shoulders, and he longed to take back the words.

Before Steve could say anything, a harsh wind blew around them and Steve shielded his face as leaves whipped through the air. When he looked back up Buchanan was gone.

After forcing himself to at least gather a few trees and check his traps Steve dragged his meager catch home. The forest felt colder and darker than he had ever experienced before. If he _had_ offended Buchanan then there was no telling what would happen.

Steve tried to keep thoughts of his encounter in the forest out of his head, staying away from the trees as much as he could. He spent more time in the village, trying to push the worries away. It seemed however, that a string of bad luck had fallen on him, and only appeared to be worsening. Any time he did spend in the forest was hopeless, no animals in his traps, and every day he came home scratched, bleeding, and frustrated. Was one faerie really to blame for this? Or was it a group effort? What kinds of powers did Buchanan even have?

By the time the snow started to fall Steve had moved past frustrated and into angry. He’d left small offerings on the edge of the trees, soft furs or cups of cream, anything he could think of that might bring his luck back around. He wouldn’t be able to sustain himself like this through the winter, he had to do _something._ Sitting at the tiny bar in the village had only left him feeling more disheartened, and now he was stuck back in the corner, nursing an ale that wasn’t doing much for him, staring blankly at the rest of the patrons. He knew all their names now, knew their families, and who would give him the best prices for his wares, as well as those who always tried to talk him down. Hell, he’d spent enough time in the square to know their children as well.

Downing the rest of his drink, Steve watched the girl, Sharon, the Carter girl, make her rounds again, his grip on his glass tightening until it squeaked when he saw one of the men snatch her wrist and pull her into his lap at the table. He didn’t need to see their faces to know exactly who would be stupid enough to give Sharon grief. Sitwel and his groupies - they’d decided to call themselves something stupid lately, what was it? Sharon twisted expertly away from him, but another one of them grabbed her, and Steve shoved the table away and pulled himself up.

“Hey!” Everyone turned to look at him and Steve took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders to glower at the men crowded around the table. They were obviously drunk, but that didn’t mean they could harass Sharon. Okay, maybe Steve was a little drunk too, but gods, he could use a fight.

Several of them stood up, but Steve kept his glare trained on them. If they thought that outnumbering him was going to help them, they were very wrong. He sized them all up, keeping in mind the other patrons and the placement of everything in the bar, his mind running through a thousand different scenarios at once.

“You got a problem, Rogers?” One of them, Rumlow, stepped forward, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Steve didn’t see him often, he spent a lot of time running back and forth between the village and the larger town to the south.

Steve matched his posture, his sleeves squeezing tight around his arms from where he’d pushed them up in the heat of the dim pub. “Yeah, I do.”  
Sharon was looking at him with pleading eyes, and Steve knew she was hoping he would de-escalate the situation, but Steve just wasn’t having it tonight. He was pissed and tired, and he wanted to hit something, Rumlow had it coming anyway. Steve remembered all of the times that the man had caused trouble previously, banking on the influence of the company he worked for to cover his ass. Really, it was just a matter of time before someone put Rumlow and his minions in their place.

“At least take it outside, won’t you?” One of the men at the bar had twisted in his seat to give them a look. “I like this place, don’t want it getting smashed up.”

Steve gave a curt nod, stepping backwards around a chair and heading for the door, quietly pleased as Rumlow and his group of rabble-rousers trailed after him. Even they knew better than to mess up the only bar in the city. They’d have a lot of people on their asses, beyond just Steve.

“Alright.” One of the men gathered behind Rumlow was rolling his shoulders. Steve didn’t remember him well, Ronald? Rollins?

Taking a breath to center himself, Steve settled his weight down into a decently defensible stance. If they were smart they’d all come at him at once.

They _were_ smart, but Steve managed to dodge the first punch, sending the man that had thrown it wobbling into the man opposite him, only for Rollins to catch Steve in the side. He twisted away, ducking another elbow and shoving two of them together to get them away from him. Rumlow made a grab for him, and Steve wasn't fast enough to get away before the other man had his arm across his throat. He wheezed when Rollins got him in the gut, the air whooshing out of him and leaving him sagging in Rumlow’s grasp. Twisting his spine Steve managed to heave Rumlow up, over, and off him, while sweeping another of the group’s legs out from beneath him, watching them both crumple to the ground. Steve backed up, reeling to avoid a punch that still split his cheek. His vision swam for a moment, and his lungs were still jumping from the punch to his gut.

The crack of a gunshot split the air and Steve couldn't deny that he jumped about a foot, though he saw three of the other men, including Rollins, do the same. Standing on the porch of the bar was Peggy Carter, the rifle still smoking in her hands and her expression hard and bleak.

Steve hadn't seen Peggy since he was tiny, she'd moved out of the village to pursue an education in one of the larger cities. She was a few years older than him, and she had grown up lovely. Steve was so distracted by her that he didn't see the other men slinking away until they had disappeared.

Taking a step toward the bar left him wobbling on his feet and he threw out a hand to stop himself from falling, surprised when Sharon darted off the porch to steady him.

“Hey Pegs.” Steve gave her a small smile and Peggy’s eyes widened, her face paling. Steve hadn't purposefully kept himself at a distance from the townsfolk, but the fact that most of them didn't make the leap that he was the same boy as the skinny waif that had ghosted through the village so many years ago had helped him in the long run.

Peggy didn't say anything to him, turning on her heel and hurrying inside, and Steve didn't try and follow her. It was a lot to take in, he supposed. He hadn't known she was back in town, and even if she was the only one who'd looked twice at him as a kid, that didn't mean she wanted to be friends now. He hadn't thought about her at all in an age besides, had assumed she would never come back.

Steve limped his way home, gently shrugging off Sharon’s insistence at helping him clean himself up, or her father’s well-meaning attempts at thanking him. He didn’t want to be thanked, he had half-hoped that Rumlow would smash in his skull so that he would finally get some rest. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so tired.

Dragging himself over to the small stream that ran along the edge of the woods Steve started to wash the blood from his face, hissing at the burn that crawled over his skin. He would be bruised and even more sore tomorrow, but he still felt like he had won. Rumlow and his idiots were unlikely to bother him again. Even though he felt like he’d been through a meat grinder, he felt a little better than he had before. The bone-weary exhaustion with his life was still present, but physical exhaustion seemed enough to push it out of the forefront of his mind for the moment. Once he’d gotten the worst of the blood off his face, Steve managed to crawl his way into his bed, dropping off to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Steve avoided town for a few days, his face had bloomed a wide variety of colored bruises, and he honestly just didn’t feel up to dealing with the looks of the townsfolk. He did however have to check on his traps, and what usually took him a few hours took him most of the day with having to stop and rest. Rollins had done a number on his ribs, he really should have hit the guy at least once more. Maybe twice.

His traps were still mostly empty, and Steve felt the frustration redouble. He would starve through the barren months of a long winter if something didn’t change.

After the better part of a week Steve was feeling almost back to normal, his anger and frustration had settled into a kind of resignation. If something didn’t change he was going to starve come winter. He didn’t have enough meat or vegetables to sustain himself, he would have to do something, or resign himself to a very hungry and potentially deadly few months once the snow started to fall. Was this really Buchanan’s doing? No, Steve couldn’t completely blame the faerie’s favor, that was just pushing it off of himself.

The next morning, as soon as the weak winter sun had started to peek over the hills, Steve found himself trudging through the forest yet again, though this time he wasn’t looking to check his traps. It took him a while, but he’d spent enough time in these trees that even if they were no longer as friendly as they had been in the past, he knew where to find the things he needed. The sun was already starting its slow arc down from its zenith by the time he’d managed to find a faerie ring, a few flakes of snow brushing over the edges.

The ring was a decent size, about as wide around as Steve’s arm-span, and he regarded it for a long moment. He had always been careful to stay away from rings in the past, unsure if rumors about them might be true. Now however, he needed answers, and there was no clear answer to how to summon a specific faerie, at least not that he knew. After a breath to steel himself, Steve stepped into the circle, looking around like a startled deer when nothing seemed to happen.

Alright, he would have to wait then. Settling down and crossing his legs Steve stared blankly out into the forest, listening to the general comings and goings of animals, watching a bird flutter down next to him and dig up a worm. The sun drooped low in the sky now, and Steve had to admit that he was bored, shifting around in his seated position to keep his legs from going numb. Maybe these rings didn’t work like that after-all, or maybe Buchanan was willfully ignoring him, or maybe-

“My God you’re a stubborn ass. How long were you planning to wait here?”

Steve’s head whipped around so hard he felt his neck pop, his gaze settling on the man leaning casually against a tree. Wow, he’d forgotten how beautiful Buchanan was, the late-afternoon sun painting him in golds, and making him seem even more ethereal than the last time.

“You’re staring.” Buchanan’s voice broke Steve out of his reverie and he felt a blush crawl up his neck. He’d come for a reason, and not just to admire.

“We need to talk.” Steve managed, wiping his now-sweaty palms on his thighs. He’d intended to be more forceful, but now he just wanted to drop his head and apologize.

Buchanan pushed himself off the tree, settling his hair behind his ear, and Steve watched the way it curled against the side of his neck, just brushing his shoulders. It looked so soft. Even with the blanket of snow covering everything Buchanan still had flowers in his hair, though they were different than the last time Steve had seen him, snowdrops and holly wreathed though the warm brown, a pair of soft purple pansies on one side. His attire had changed too, cozy furs draping his shoulders and making him seem much larger, though his chest was still bare, and his linen pants hung low on his hips. Steve wasn’t afraid of him, but he was captivated. Watching Buchanan walk over to him was like a dance in itself.

Shaking himself, Steve forced himself to stop being so enthralled, meeting the other man’s gaze when he settled himself in a mirror of Steve’s position outside the ring.

“I need you to stop messing with my traps, I won’t survive the winter if-”

“You still haven’t let you flowers grow.” Buchanan was frowning at him. “You said you didn’t want them.”

Steve felt annoyance flutter in his chest. “I still don’t want them. I want to not die next month because you won’t let me take from the forest.”

Buchanan crossed his arms over his chest. “You denied my gifts, and you want me to let you off scot-free? Why should I let you take from the forest when you insist on flouting my favor?”

“Gifts?” Steve frowned, his eyes widened when the realization dawned. “ _You_ gave me the flowers?”

Buchanan was looking out into the trees. “Your mother… She went out into the forest when you were born and begged the faeries for their favor in order to keep you alive; you were so sickly and small. Your mother was a kind woman, and treated us with respect, so we granted her wish.” He shifted, burying his hands in the snow-dusted grass but still looking anywhere but at Steve. “The flowers were a gift. My magic could only do so much, but-”

Steve felt guilt crash over him, his fingers digging into his own hair to feel the soft stems that had valiantly tried to grow all summer. “You said you’d been watching over me for a long time.”

Buchanan looked at him again, and Steve felt his heart flutter once more.

“I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve squandered your gift.” Steve’s voice came out smaller than he anticipated. No wonder Buchanan was upset with him, he had squandered the gift that had been afforded him by his mother’s sacrifice and care. “But I can’t do anything to be worthy of your favor again if I starve to death by month’s end. Please, let me make it up to you.” Steve wanted to reach out and take one of Buchanan’s hands, make him understand his earnestness, but he kept his hands at his sides. “Please.”

Buchanan looked up at him, a small sigh leaving his soft pink lips. “I'm too kind to you. The others have told me so, but alright, but I’ll give you a chance.”

“Thank you.” Steve leaned forward, trying to memorize the planes of the faerie’s face. He didn't know if- “Can I see you again?” He blurted before the thought was even fully-formed, the flush crawling back up his neck when Buchanan blinked at him.

“You want to see me again?” Buchanan sounded surprised, leaning back a bit and running his fingers through his hair, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips absently. “It's not usually done…”

Steve wanted to grab him again, his hands even coming up a little, but he stopped himself. “Please. Without my ma, I don't have anyone.” He felt guilt dig into him. He could get by on his own, but he really wanted to see him again.

“Fine. But I won't be at your beck and call.” Buchanan said.

Steve shook his head. “Of course. You can come by the house, if you want.”

Buchanan was grinning at him now, and Steve felt his heart skip. Wow, he was so beautiful it made Steve feel weak.

“I don't think that's a good idea either, Stevie. Faeries in your house can cause all kinds of mischief.”

Steve was grinning now too, pulling himself up off the ground and quickly realizing how stiff and cold he'd gotten. “Alright then, Bucky, you don't have to come if you don't want to.” He gathered up his coat and threw it around his shoulders, shaking out his cold limbs before stepping back outside the circle.

Buchanan was staring up at him, his expression unreadable. “Bucky?”

“Well, Buchanan is a little long.” Steve shrugged. “You don't like it?”

Bucky stared at him a while longer before standing as well, brushing a few snowflakes off his pants. “It's fine. See you around then, Steve.”

Steve's luck didn't change overnight, but he slowly saw things taking a turn for the better. Every morning when he trudged through the snow to check his traps, he kept his eyes open for Bucky, always greeting the trees and hoping that Bucky would hear him as he talked about his day, or his time in the village. He probably looked like a madman, talking to the trees, but he knew that Bucky was there, and even if he didn't hear him, it was okay.

And every night he sat and looked out into the trees, making sure to get a second bowl down from the cupboard just in case Bucky showed up to eat with him. He was always hopeful, but never surprised when he was left to eat alone. Bucky had said as much, he couldn't be pushy.

Just the thought that Bucky would appear made Steve feel less lonely, and he found himself relaxing in a way he hadn't in years. He was rebuilding the trust that his mother had found with the faeries, and maybe if he worked hard enough, Bucky would come see him. It was easier now to do all the things that had seemed so insurmountable before, and he found the cloud of sadness and apathy that had plagued him lifting a little. The threat of winter loomed as the trees changed and started to drop their leaves in earnest, and Steve knew that he would have to start planning.

The taste of frost hung in the air in the mornings now, along with snow that had started to stick to the ground instead of burning off with the sun, and Steve knew this would be his last trip into town for the winter. Lugging his trappings there wasn’t such a hassle as it would be when the snow was deep, but he was still damp and a little chilled by the time that he got down the hill into the village. He waved at Sharon when she noticed him, making a beeline for the bar to warm up a bit before he started looking for wares to trade. She gave him a tight smile in return, dashing off almost immediately.

Before Steve had time to consider what he could have done to upset Sharon, he slammed into Peggy on her way out the door, nearly bowling her over.

“Steve!” She stared up at him as she nervously straightened her skirt. Steve couldn’t remember ever seeing Peggy nervous.

“Hey Peg-” He wanted to ask what was wrong, but she cut him off before he could get anything more out.

“We need to talk,” she hissed, stepping closer to him and looking around. “I-”

“Steven!” Peggy’s father boomed from behind the bar. “I need to speak with you.”

Steve straightened up, looking over the top of Peggy’s head at her father across the room. “Of course, sir.” He shot Peggy an apologetic look when he saw the pleading eyes she was giving him. Whatever had upset both Carter sisters had to be bad.

Peggy stepped aside to let him pass, and Steve gave her a guilty smile but straightened himself out to follow behind her father into the back room of the bar where it was private and quiet.

“So Steven.” Peggy’s father turned on him and Steve had to resist the urge to wring his hands together. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, he had to take a deep breath and bear whatever it was.

He had tuned out for a moment with worry, but Peggy’s father had blundered on, Steve quickly tried his best to make it seem like he had been listening.

“And I realized that you were still without clear prospects, so I wanted to approach you before the winter about the future of my daughters. Namely Peggy. She’s spent so much time away from the village, and I had hoped she-”

Steve tuned him out again as he felt his heart sink through the floor. There was no way that Mr. Carter was being serious. He’d honestly never considered that anyone in the village might look at him twice, let alone something like this. And Peggy? She was beautiful, and kind and smart, and he liked her; but to marry her?

Mr. Carter was still talking animatedly, but Steve couldn’t focus on any of his words, his mind running circles over itself. This was what people did, right? Once they got older? He hadn’t expected to live this long, let alone come out of it a man that anyone would find desirable. Did people see him as desirable? Did Peggy? Clearly this was what had upset both the girls, but what was he supposed to do?

Steve held his hand up and Mr. Carter blinked at him, his expression expectant. “I don’t know what to say…” Steve brushed his hair out of his face, and wiped his hands nervously on the front of his thighs, “Peggy is-”

Mr. Carter’s hands shot up again and Steve took a half step back. “Oh, don’t worry my boy, I didn’t mean for you to decide right now. I intended to give you the winter to think it over and we could discuss it again in the spring.”

The breath Steve had been holding left him in a rush and he felt his shoulders relax. Mr. Carter clearly expected him to accept, but at least he was giving Steve time to think about it, even if it was just to think of a gentle way to refuse him. Was he going to refuse? “Thank you Mr. Carter. I’ll think about it.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Mr. Carter, and Steve beat a hasty retreat back out into the bar, no longer interested in staying around to dry off. He needed to talk to Peggy, as much as the thought of facing her filled him with apprehension. He’d been given the winter to think it over, which he was clearly going to need. Marriage wasn’t something he had ever considered, a future had never been in his purview before.

He didn’t set out to find Peggy immediately, instead focusing on trading for the things that he would need for winter. Despite any worry of what the spring would bring, he had to survive the winter first. Despite the village being so small, he saw no hint of either of the Carter sisters, which he assumed was intentional. If they wanted to avoid him, then it worked out just fine. It wasn’t running; he hated the thought that he was cowering from this decision, but being faced with such intense indecision was just as upsetting. His thoughts kept circling around and settling on Bucky, then skittering away from him like a scared animal. Was that something?

Stocking his packs took him most of the day, and the sun was low in the sky when he double-checked that he had everything he would need. Neither Peggy nor Sharon had appeared, and Steve knew that was for the best. He would need to talk to Peggy, but he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression when he was so thrown from talking to her father. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

The trek back home felt shorter than before, he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that his feet carried him surely over the familiar path without his noticing. There was fresh snow on the ground, with the promise of more, and Steve was surprised to find his cottage warmed with a small fire in the hearth, fighting off the chill from outside and leaving him suffused with relief at being home. He could ride out the winter here and think about his future in the spring.

“Thank you Bucky.” Steve murmured, dropping his packs and going to refill the pitcher for water before the creek froze solid for the night.

Before Steve realized, it was the height of winter, the weak solstice sun hanging in the sky. He went out to the river to sit quietly in the snow and pray for his mother. Remembering her still brought a bitter ache to his chest. Gods, but he missed her. The familiar scent of burning pine and sage lulled him into a doze once he returned to the house, bundled up in blankets and soaked in the warm light of the fire. Things had been worse before, really, he had nothing to complain about

He startled awake at the soft sound of snow crunching beneath boots, peering out the window to see someone approaching the house. The solstice moon bathed the clearing before the house in cold light, but it was more than enough for Steve to recognize the man approaching, despite the fact that he was covered in a heavy cloak. Kicking off the blankets Steve made a dash for the door, pulling it open and letting the warm light from inside spill out into the snow.

“Bucky!”

The man looked up at him, his eyes shining in the bright moonlight, and a smile gracing his face as he pushed his hood back. “Happy Solstice, Steve.” He stopped just outside the little circle of light, though he was still smiling softly.

“Don't you want to come inside? I have some food, and it's warm-”

“I can't, I can't stay long. I just wanted to come and wish you well. I have, well, a party to return to, and they'll be angry if I miss it.”

Steve edged closer, though he couldn't step past the deck for fear of wet socks. “You don't lose your flowers in the winter.” It wasn't what Steve had meant to say, but the words fell out regardless.

Bucky blinked at him. “No. I keep my flowers all year, though they regularly die off and grow anew.” He reached up to run his fingers through his hair as he said it, brushing at the tender holly leaves that had sprouted tiny red berries.

Steve chewed his lip. “Mine always died off in the winter. I know you wanted me to grow them back-”

Bucky's smile had disappeared. “I don't _want_ you to grow them back. I want you to appreciate them.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “I didn't come to fight with you.” Then he loosened his stance and dug into the depths of the furs around him, pulling out a tiny box that appeared to be wrapped in papery birchbark. “Here.” He stepped closer, the warm orange light finally touching him as he handed the box to Steve.

Steve stared wide-eyed at him. “You didn't have to- I don't-” he swallowed thickly, taking the box from Bucky and holding it close to his chest. “I don't have anything for you…” He felt guilt crash down over his shoulders. He should have left an offering, something, anything, but he had hoped Bucky would want to come inside and share a meal with him.

“It's fine.” Bucky waved him off. “You can make it up to me some other time, yeah?”

Steve nodded vigorously, still clutching the box to his chest. “If you're sure you don't want to come inside…”

Bucky looked at him for a long moment. “I’d love to, but I find myself far too tempted, and I fear I would never leave.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky was already stepping back into the moonlight. “I have other duties to attend to. Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.” Steve watched him turn and disappear into the forest again, only belatedly realizing that Bucky had left no footprints in the snow. The only thing to show that he had been there at all was the birchbark covered box in Steve's hand.

Retreating back into the house, Steve flopped back down into the chair by the fire, carefully examining the box Bucky had given him. It was carefully wrapped, the knots in the willow tied tightly and securely in order to hold the papery bark in place. It was exquisite, and Steve felt guilty at the prospect of opening it. Using the edge of his thumbnail he managed to pick one of the knots loose, careful as he unwrapped the box. Beneath the covering, the box was just as beautiful, smooth dark wood. Steve thought for a moment it was seamless, until he pushed on the top and it slid easily aside to reveal an inner space. Within there was a smooth stone, almost a perfect oval, nearly flat on one side and slightly concave on the other. As Steve lifted it out of the box he realized there was a small hole in the top to thread it onto a strap, a necklace. Steve’s fingers fit perfectly into the concave side as he rubbed in gentle circles, his body relaxing immediately. Bucky had made him a worry stone, and it was beautiful, soft teal and so smooth that Steve had the strange urge to press his lips to it just to better feel the texture.

He continued to gently rub at the stone as he regarded the box, closing the lid and setting it securely on the ledge above the hearth. There it was safe from the heat of the fire, but he could still look on it whenever he wanted. Digging around in his leather scraps he found a suitable piece, twisting it in his unoccupied hand and smoothing down the edges so that it could hang around his neck without being scratchy. After carefully threading and tying the stone on the leather, Steve tied it around his neck, pleased to feel it settle against his breastbone like it belonged there.

“Thank you, Bucky,” he murmured into the warm air of his house, eyes drawn to the dark trees across the clearing.

Steve went to sleep with his fingers closed tightly around the stone, glad for once that his mind didn't feel so full to keep him awake.

It wasn’t until the snow had started to melt that Steve saw Bucky again. He’d made it through the winter without going too hungry, though he’d managed to wear down the stone Bucky had made him. He endlessly fidgeted with it whenever his mind wandered to keep him from wringing his hands together or chewing at his knuckles as he often had before. There were tiny blades of green peeking out of the snow, and Steve realized that his scalp was itchy with new growth, his heart racing at the idea of letting his flowers grow back this season.

Staring at himself in his slightly foggy mirror, Steve examined the beard that he’d managed to grow through the cold months, trying not to itch mindlessly at his scalp as the prickling remained. Bucky wanted him to grow his flowers, so he could do it. It was more than that though, Bucky had said he wanted Steve to want it.

Did he? Did he want the flowers back?

He couldn’t go to the village like that, he would be shunned again, ruin the reputation that he’d grown for himself, but did he really care? The people in the village weren’t exactly his friends; he traded with them for things he couldn’t make himself, but if they decided not to trade with him anymore because of his flowers, could he survive on his own? And what about Mr. Carter and Peggy? That was a genuine avenue that he could pursue, have a family and a life in the village. He had spent many hours agonizing over Mr. Carter’s proposition, but he hadn’t come any closer to an answer. He didn’t _know_ Peggy anymore, they were both very different than they’d been during their tentative friendship as children, and there was no telling if she was actually _interested_ in Steve at all. He couldn’t push back the nagging self-doubt and deprecation that had plagued him since he was a boy.

Steve was lost in thought as he wandered through the trees, the skin of his face tingling from the cold air, now that he’d decided it was time for him to shave. The weak late-winter sun tried its best to warm the frozen earth.

“You need to pay closer attention to where you’re going, Stevie.”

Steve jumped, his heart racing as he twisted to find Bucky’s voice. “Do you have to sneak up on me _every_ time?”

Bucky was grinning at him, and Steve felt his heart skip, his fingers jumping to the stone around his neck as he looked Bucky over. He was still wearing the furred cape around his shoulders, though his flowers had started to change from the dark and shiny green of holly to bright green of new spring daffodils. Every time Steve had seen him, it's like he can breathe anew, he's surely the most beautiful-

“You're staring again.” Bucky cut him out of his thoughts, and Steve tried not to look too guilty in response to the doe-eyed look he was probably giving the other man.

Bucky's gaze landed on Steve's hand at his chest, a smile tugging at his lips. “You like the stone.”

Steve nodded vigorously, but dropped his hand back to his side. “I wear it every day.” His eyes widened as Bucky stepped into his space, fighting the urge to reel back as the other man’s fingers brushed his jaw.

“You shaved.” Bucky was so close that Steve could smell the sweetness of him, like fresh-tilled earth and poppy dust, it made Steve's head swim.

“Yeah, it's gonna get too hot for a beard soon, figured I’d get it over with.” Steve wanted to touch Bucky's face too, was surprised to see stubble on his cheeks. He'd assumed that faeries didn't… do that, and yet he could see the dark hairs poking their way through.

Bucky pulled back his hand. “I liked it, the beard, but I like this too.”

“I'm going to grow my flowers back,” Steve blurted, his face burning at Bucky's surprised expression. He hadn't meant to practically shout. “I just mean, I want to give them a chance. And we’ll match.” Steve actually hadn’t been firm in his decision, but suddenly found that he was. What could it hurt to give it a try?

The soft smile was back on Bucky's face. “I’ll have to keep visiting you then, see how you're progressing.” Steve felt his heart flutter once more at the idea of seeing Bucky regularly.

“Sounds great, Buck.”

Steve spent the next few weeks tidying up the mess that always accrued over winter, while the snow continued to melt steadily, airing out the house and trying to keep himself busy. Now that he'd told Bucky he was going to let his flowers grow, the decision felt final, he was going to do this, for better or worse. Accept whatever happened with the townsfolk and let himself be. If Mr. Carter rescinded his offer, then so be it. And Peggy.. He would talk to Peggy when he could.

He found it freeing in a way, the newfound acceptance of himself. He was different than the other people he'd grown up with as a child, different even than his mother who had loved him dearly enough to beg the faeries for their help. The fog that had settled over him for so long had finally started to thin. He wasn't free of it, still had bouts of self-doubt and paralyzing moments of emptiness where he struggled to even get himself out of the house, but they were fading to a manageable level.

Even his desire to see Bucky wasn’t the sole source of his change in spirit; of course he _wanted_ to see Bucky, but he’d found his refreshed outlook, making everything around him seem a little less bleak.

He saw Bucky more often, if not regularly, even convincing him to come as far as Steve's porch though he was loath to come inside.

“You lit a fire when I was in the village, before winter.” Steve argued every time that Bucky lingered on the porch.

“It was wrong of me to intrude on your home.” Bucky stayed steadfast on the porch, “I wasn’t invited.”

“I invited you before, I told you-”

“Just drop it, Steve. It’s a nice morning.”

It always ended that way, Bucky bringing up something else to distract Steve from the argument, and Steve letting him, though not forgetting.

Once the snow had started to melt in earnest, Steve had to venture back down to the village. He couldn’t hide up here forever, as tempting as that might be. As he dragged his sled behind him in the soft lingering snow, he went over his mental list of supplies so as not to forget anything important. If the spring continued the way it had been going, and he was truly going to let his flowers grow, then this might be one of his last trips into town. He focused on his supplies, forcefully blocking out any other worries until he had everything on his list.

Only once he couldn’t avoid it any further did he go and seek out Peggy.

She wasn’t hard to find, sitting like she had been waiting for him on the big stump at the edge of the road to the Carter’s house. Her ankles were neatly crossed and she looked as beautiful as Steve had ever seen her. She stood when she saw him.

“Hey, Peg.” Steve gave her an shy wave as he approached, feeling every inch the same awkward boy he always had been around her.

“Steve. Come and walk with me, won’t you?” She didn’t give him time to answer before she turned and walked purposefully down the road out of town. Steve trailed after her, his fingers crawling up to find the stone around his neck.

Once they passed the edge of town, Peggy slowed, letting Steve match her pace. “This should be far enough for us to talk without being bothered.”

Steve looked around for a moment before settling down on a mostly dry log with a sigh. “Listen Peg-” He immediately stood up again, too anxious to stay seated after all.

Peggy held up her hands. “Let me speak first, will you?” Steve snapped his mouth closed and shoved his hands in the pocket of his fur overcoat, watching Peggy cross her arms and straighten her back.

“I know what my father talked to you about, and I’m sorry to mix you up in this, but he’s got it all wrong.” She sounded exasperated and Steve plopped back down on the log, blinking up at her. She was...turning him down? He hadn’t even agreed.

Peggy started to pace in front of him. “He, my father, has good intentions, but he wants me to stay here, and I have no such plans. I only came home to visit and try and convince Sharon to come back to the city with me, but father seems to think that if he can set me up with you, I will stay.” She turned to Steve, her expression softening. “Don’t think too harshly of me.”

Steve blinked at her for a long moment before his brain caught up. “I was uh, actually still not sure what my answer was going to be, if I’m being honest. Though I’m actually relieved. I’m...not really the type for a family and-”

“I know.” Peggy was giving him a smile. “Everyone else seems to have forgotten you, willfully or not, but I remember you from before; though you sure are different than the last time I saw you. What have you done with your crown of flowers?”

A blush crawled up Steve’s neck and he ducked his head, suddenly shy under Peggy’s teasing smile. “I cut them...I couldn’t stand being alone without my mother, and I wouldn’t have survived up there cut off from the village.” He swallowed and pulled his gaze back up. “I wanted people to forget about me, but...it’s not who I am, living in the village, having a family…”

Peggy’s smile had widened. “We’re quite the pair. You always have been so dramatic. Whatever you need to do to be happy, just do it.” She stepped closer to him, brushing her fingers through his hair and rustling the tender stems where they had started to poke up from his scalp, barely visible. “If things were different, I think we could have been happy, even pleased my father.”

Steve returned her smile. “Can you imagine it? You never struck me as the stay-at-home type.” He stood, momentarily thrown by how small Peggy seemed beside him. She had always seemed larger than life. Even as a child he knew that she was the kind of woman he could have loved, but he was glad that she was making a life for herself somewhere, and that she would be happier. “You always seemed to have bigger and better things to do than sit around the village.”

Peggy gave him a tight nod. “You’re not going to come back to the village after this, are you?”

Steve sighed. “No. I’m not. Better they just forget about me again.”

Peggy nodded again, turning to look back toward the village. “I’ll visit you when I come back to see father. Maybe teach you some of the things I learn in the city.”

“I’d like that.” Steve scratched absently at the back of his head where the growing stalks were starting to take firm root. “I’ll introduce you to Bucky.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow at him. “Bucky?”

“It’s a long story, but I guess I have some time…”

Between re-packing and telling Peggy all about Bucky, Steve found himself feeling worn out as he trudged back toward home. Peggy and Sharon had saved him from having to explain to their father. Sharon had seemed genuinely happy with how things had worked out between Steve and her sister, gushing about her excitement in seeing the city with Peggy once the roads dried out. Mr. Carter was bound to be upset about losing both of his daughters, but it was better this way. Both girls promised to visit Steve’s cottage whenever they returned, and bring him things that he couldn’t get for himself in the forest, and Steve found himself content with the idea. It would be harder to get some things without visiting the village, but he was lying to himself thinking that things would work out long-term the way they had been going. All in all, it was a better outcome than he could have anticipated. He was lucky once more.

Steve stuck to his resolution not to visit the village, though Peggy did make the trek to visit him before she left for the city, giving him a small parcel of things from the village, tallow candles that he would have to learn to make, and some lovely scented oil from one of the vendors that had managed to make it all the way up to the village. It smelled like lavender oil and sage, and Steve was immediately in love with it. He hugged her tightly after she again promised to visit him when she came back, whenever that may be. It surprised him to realize that he would miss her. He hadn’t even known she was here, and she had immediately become a lifeline, and he was sad to be losing her so quickly.

Bucky started to visit him more and more as the season progressed, the puddles drying up and the air turning warm as winter edged into proper spring. Steve loved it, the looming loneliness that had plagued him always disappeared around Bucky, and he found himself smiling more than he could ever remember doing before.

“I've never seen another faerie besides you.” Steve mused, scratching absently at the fronds that had taken root in his blond hair, blooms growing but not yet open. They had taken longer to grow this time than ever before, and Steve was wondering if he’d done some sort of damage in cutting them off for months.

Bucky shrugged from his sprawled-out position in one of Steve's large wooden chairs. Earlier that week Steve had dragged a pair of the chairs out of the house and onto the porch for them to use whenever Bucky visited.

“It's not too surprising.” Bucky said, “Most prefer not to be seen unless they're causing mischief. It's probably good that you haven't seen them.”

Steve was endlessly curious about the faerie world, and the things that Bucky did when he wasn't lounging on Steve's porch. Bucky seemed generally uneasy at the thought of humans, his expression going hard whenever Steve talked about the village. He didn’t want to push, but it felt like there was something important that Bucky wasn’t telling him.

“What do you get up to when I don’t see you? Do you have...duties?”

Bucky rolled his shoulders, eyeing Steve. “Mmm… I have a few, but mostly I just keep the forest in good health. I know you humans tend to have blanket terms for our kind, but we do have specialties.”

Steve turned toward him, sitting forward a little to listen more closely. Bucky almost never talked about the things that he did.

Sighing dramatically Bucky straightened up in the chair. “I’m a forest deity. I look after the trees and the forest. My powers are related to growing things, though I have some measure of influence on other things that enter the forest. Some of us have more of a connection to animals, or water. Your mother asked for my blessing, and I gave you the strength of the forest. But my influence… isn’t that impressive.”

Steve gaped at him. “You kept me alive all those winters. I wouldn’t have survived without you, not then, and not now. You keep me alive every day, Bucky.”

Bucky was staring up at him now; Steve didn’t remember standing, but here he was, looking askance down at the faery. There was a beat of silence between them and then Bucky’s face cracked into a smile.

“You’re too much sometimes, Steve. Who says that kind of stuff off the cuff?”

Steve felt his ears burn and he plopped back down into his chair. “Jerk. I’m trying to compliment you.”

Bucky leaned toward him, his smile softening. “I appreciate it. I only ever wanted you to see the gifts you already have, though. I didn’t add anything that wasn’t already there, just bolstered it.”

“Now who sounds like a sap?” Steve nudged him, and Bucky laughed.

“I guess you’re right.” Bucky reached over to sling his arm around Steve’s shoulders, leaning over the arm of the chair to get to him. Steve felt his heart stutter in his chest as he leaned back against Bucky’s sideways embrace.

“We can be a pair of saps I, guess.” Bucky said.

Steve leaned awkwardly over the arm of the chair, filled with the urge to bury his face in Bucky's shoulder. Bucky was beaming and beautiful, ringed at the temples with a new growth of spring dewdrops and daffodils. The soft and now familiar scent of earth and growing things making Steve feel more at home than he could remember since his mother passed.

_Oh gods, I'm in love with him._ Steve jerked away, his cheeks burning as the realization washed over him. He had actually fallen in love with Bucky. What was he supposed to do now? He'd been in love for a while though, hadn't he? That's why the whole thing with Peggy had put him off so much, but he hadn't even thought about it. Now…

“Do faerie’s… have families?” Steve’s face screwed up a bit when the words fell from his lips. That was not what he had meant to ask. He sounded like a moron now.

Bucky was staring at him, looking just as confused as Steve felt. “Families? We… Well, we don't have children in the same way that humans do, we simply come into being when the natural world needs a spirit to help it thrive. But… children are usually taken care of by everyone. But that's not what you meant, right?”

Steve swallowed, shaking his head.

“We do often take humans as lovers.”

Steve's head popped up and he felt his heart flutter again. Lovers sounded...nice. But he wanted more than that, if he was being honest with himself.

Bucky was grinning at him again. “Next you'll be inquiring about the specifics I suppose. If you wanted to know if our anatomy was the same, you only needed to ask.” His tone had turned teasing, and Steve watched the moment flutter away like a frightened bird. Bucky wasn't being serious, and Steve couldn't ask.

“Don't be such a jerk, Bucky.”

Steve felt the soft light like a physical presence brushing over his skin, warming him through and leaving him feeling relaxed and his mind pleasantly empty as he lounged in the grass with Bucky beside him. It was a hot day, and both of them had stripped down to practically nothing. Though wading through the stream had helped Steve still felt overheated.

“It’s beautiful here,” Steve murmured, his eyes threatening to close as a soft breeze ruffled the grass around him. It was peaceful this deep into the forest.

Steve’s flowers were growing in earnest now, and Bucky came to see him nearly every day. The faery claimed that that the forest needed less tending in the spring when it was thriving, but Steve hoped his motives were more selfish.

Steve knew that he was in love with Bucky, but he hadn't had the strength to tell him. How did you even approach that conversation? It wasn't going to be as simple as him asking Bucky to stay. The spring had started to crawl its way toward summer, and the soft green shoots in Steve’s hair were starting to bloom. Now he carried the additional scents of daisy and honeysuckle with the woodsmoke and herbs that he surrounded himself with while at home. Bucky seemed enamoured with his flowers, and Steve often caught him staring with a soft look on his face.

“Bucky?” Steve asked. The faerie jumped, his gaze snapping to Steve's face for the third time in an hour, “If you want to touch them, you can.” It wouldn't bother Steve if Bucky touched him, in fact, now that he'd mentioned it, he felt sick with want for it. He scooted closer in the grass nearer to where Bucky was sprawled out next to him.

Bucky paused a moment but then slowly reached over to brush the tips of his fingers over the flowers nestled in Steve’s hair. Steve gasped, the sensation wholly different than when he touched the stems himself. It felt intimate, and his eyes fluttered closed as Bucky gently explored the folds of each petal and the angles of the stems where they were rooted into Steve’s scalp.

Steve felt shivery, and he instantly turned to putty in Bucky's hands, letting the weight of his head rest in the curl of Bucky's palms. It felt amazing, and set off a soft warming sensation flowing through Steve to the tips of his fingers, comforting and tender. He whined when Bucky pulled away, his eyes fluttering open as he tried to surface from the dreamy state he'd fallen into.

“Wow… that's nice.”

Bucky was staring intensely at him, and Steve stared back, the whole world slowing and quieting around them the longer that they stayed that way.

“Steve-”

Steve leaned closer, tangling his fingers in Bucky's soft hair and pulling him into a kiss before he could overthink what he was doing.

Bucky made a soft noise against his lips and swayed closer, his hands braced on Steve's thighs like he was afraid to touch any more than that.

Steve tipped his head, brushing his fingers through Bucky's hair, careful not to pull any stems.

Bucky was smiling when they pulled apart, his eyes crinkling around the corners, and his soft curling smile wide in his face.

“Wow. Who taught you to kiss? You're horrible.”

A laugh punched its way out of Steve's chest, all the tension between them broken by Bucky's jab. “Really? That's what you say?”

Bucky brushed his thumb over Steve's jaw, his expression softening once more. “Guess we’ll have to get you some practice, right?”

“I love you.” Steve had never felt more sure of anything in his life.

Bucky pressed their foreheads together. “I've loved you since I first saw you in the forest. Why else would I have given you my blessing?”

Steve snorted. “That's a little weird Buck.”

“Shut up. Not like that. You know what I mean.”

Steve kissed him again, “Yeah, I do.”

Gentle fingers curled against Steve’s cheek and he turned his head, smiling into Bucky’s palm as he gazed down at Steve on his back. Bucky sprawled out next to him, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on a spot just behind Steve’s ear that made him melt into the soft earth.

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky’s eyes were stuck to Steve’s as he asked, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

Steve’s heart fluttered at the thought and he leaned further into Bucky’s touch. “Don’t gotta ask. I kissed you first.”

Bucky just grinned, pulling him into a gentle kiss as he settled his weight on his elbow. They lay there on their sides, kissing for what could have been hours, until Steve’s whole body was tingling with desire, his fingers finding their way into Bucky’s incredibly soft hair when Bucky moved to press wet kisses to Steve’s throat.

“Ah-” Steve’s eyes fluttered closed, and he tilted his head, pressing kisses of his own to Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky himself focused on sucking a hickey into his neck. Steve could feel Bucky’s grin against his skin when he let out a soft moan.

“Yeah?” Bucky was nudging at him, running his hands up and down Steve’s sides and across his back

“Shut it.” Steve tried to sound annoyed but failed miserably, turning to press their lips together again. He could happily kiss Bucky forever.

It didn’t take much longer for Steve to nudge Bucky onto his back, sharing sloppy-wet kisses as they ran their hands over every inch of skin available. Steve moved his hand down to cup and rub at the bulge of Bucky’s cock where it had started to distend the line of his breeches. Steve hadn’t planned anything, hadn’t even thought before he kissed Bucky, but now he was ravenous for more - his mouth watering at the idea of kissing Bucky everywhere. He didn’t give it any more consideration before moving to press kisses down Bucky’s chest, laving running his tongue over one of his dusky brown nipples.

“Is this okay?” Steve looked up at Bucky through his eyelashes, pausing a moment with his hands resting on the dip of Bucky’s hips. He wanted to hear that Bucky wanted this, needed to hear it.

“Gods, yes.” Bucky breathed the words into the thickened air between them, goosebumps jumping to his skin as Steve’s breath fanned over his ribs. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Steve’s grin was sharp and hungry and he wasted no time in ducking down and pressing his cheek to the bulge in Bucky’s breeches. It would be a lie to say he knew what he was doing - but it seemed that Bucky would enjoy the same things he did. So he drank in the soft noise that Bucky made as Steve mouthed at him through the soft fabric before tugging the waistband down. Bucky made a soft noise as Steve took him in hand, gentle and inquisitive as he mapped out the shape and feel of Bucky’s flesh.

Licking his lips, Steve lapped at the head of Bucky’s cock, surprised by the slightly floral sweetness of the clear fluid that had beaded at the tip. Bucky made a choked-off noise, his fingers fluttering over Steve’s cheek when he opened up to take more into his mouth. Steve had no idea what to expect. He’d only ever touched himself, but Bucky’s skin was sweet like honeysuckle and the soft noises he was making made Steve’s dick throb.

“Gods, Stevie…” Bucky threw his head back as Steve bobbed his head, fingers resting against the base of Steve’s skull to help guide him and let him establish a rhythm.

Steve was careful of his teeth and pulled back immediately when he felt like he would choke. Flicking his eyes up to meet Bucky’s made Steve flush hot all over, the intensity in that gaze almost too much. Pursing his lips to leave wet kisses over the hot skin, Steve let himself relax into it until his jaw was aching and Bucky was making keening sounds in the back of his throat, his fingers tightening in his hair until Steve saw stars. _So good._

Bucky pulled him off and Steve panted for breath, tingling all over with want. In no time at all Bucky flipped them, pressing Steve into the soft meadow grass and straddling his thighs.

“Want to know something fun?” Bucky murmured against the skin of Steve’s collarbone, nudging the collar of his shirt aside and then urging Steve to lift his arms and take it off entirely.  
Steve’s brain wasn’t currently firing at full steam and it took him a moment to realize he was supposed to answer Bucky’s question.

“Muh?” he said intelligibly.

Bucky just grinned down at him, looking radiant in the soft light of the spring sun through the trees. As much as Steve’s brain was screaming at him for more touching right the hell now, his heart was full of soft and tender things that he would certainly have to examine later.

In lieu of answering, Bucky tangled his fingers into Steve’s hair again, teasing at the soft stems interwoven with the strands of Steve’s hair and making goosebumps crawl their way down Steve’s arms. The sensation was pleasant, but almost overwhelming, it made Steve’s breath stutter in his chest, and he grabbed at Bucky again with renewed desperation.

“Should let you fuck me sometime,” Bucky hissed, as Steve forcibly resettled Bucky onto his thighs between wet kisses, “Or maybe I can fuck you.”

Steve made another unintelligible noise similar to the first, shoving his pants down enough to free his dick and bring both of them together in one hand. Bucky cursed in a language that Steve didn’t know, their kisses devolving into shared breath as they both chased their pleasure.

Steve was so caught up in trying to look at Bucky this close that he was almost surprised when his orgasm crashed over him, hips stuttering up to fuck his hand as he tipped over that edge. Wet splashes of come made it all the way to his chest.

Once Steve could tell which were his arms and which were his legs, he wasted no time in redoubling his efforts to get Bucky off too. The intense buzz under his skin seemed no less than it had been before.

“C’mon Buck, gods you look so good like this - can’t believe I never kissed you before.” Steve’s words were running away from him, a litany of praise and filth in equal measure as Bucky screwed his eyes shut, short fingernails digging into Steve’s arms as he came.

After a moment Bucky let out a long sigh, sagging against Steve. It seemed as if the entire forest sighed with him; a buzz in the air that Steve hadn’t noticed before ebbing into a blanket of warmth and satisfaction. Maybe he was reading too much into it.

Bucky rolled off him, flopping into the soft grass and snuggling into Steve’s side.

It felt natural for Steve to tangle his fingers back into Bucky’s hair, teasing at the tender stems until Bucky pressed his temple into Steve’s hand, sighing happily.

“You’re gonna put me to sleep like that, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice sounded a little slurred, and he looked so soft like this that Steve wanted to soak himself in the moment and never let it go.

“Would that be so bad?” Steve’s voice was soft, and he pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple, heart overflowing with fondness.

Bucky abruptly yawned, dissolving into laughter in the next moment and moving to pull away from Steve’s hands. “You’re terrible. I’m starved, what are you gonna feed me?”

“I don’t think that’s how faery offerings are supposed to work. You wanna head home?” Bucky grumbled and snuggled into Steve’s chest.

This was what Steve had wanted. It was just...nice. It took away the aching loneliness that had plagued him since he’d lost his mother. Bucky was more than he could have imagined. It wouldn’t be easy, there would always be something but...

“Are you a faery?” Bucky said, “I think I make the rules here, pal.” Bucky rolled off him, standing gracefully and holding out his hand to help Steve up. Steve only stumbled a little, both of them grinned like the pair of loons that they were.


End file.
